


==> This Is Stupid

by spiritedWinters



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Collegestuck, Flamboyantly Gay Eridan, Humanstuck, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Twin Sollux, Twin Striders
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-13
Updated: 2013-09-14
Packaged: 2017-12-11 17:20:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/801197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiritedWinters/pseuds/spiritedWinters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>College is stupid. Especially when you have a Strider as a roommate, an Ampora who can't get his shit together, a stoner for a best friend, and two sets of twins in the same dorm, flirting with the same people: namely, each other.<br/>Shit's about to go down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. ==> Karkat: Meet Your Dorm Mates

Your name is Karkat Vantas. You're 18, and you've just moved in to your shitty-ass dorm. It's brand-spanking-new, clean as a whistle, whatever other stupid sayings you could manage to conjure up. The point is that it's new and clean and completely devoid of other people. You're honestly pretty grateful for that. It gives you a chance to set up. Apparently your room mate will be joining you sometime later, all the way from Fucking Texas Or Some Shit. Why the hell he'd come to the beeeeeyoutiful island of Hawaii instead of staying in Really Hot And Dusty And Apparently Not As Dry As You Thought Texas is beyond y-- no, it's really not. Who wouldn't move out here? You really only came because oh-wow-humidity-that's-really-fucking-nice, not to mention you know a couple of families in the area. Much better than SoCal, anyways, where you know everyone within an hour's drive and in the summer you burn your fucking skin off because it's a hundred and thirty fucking degrees. 

Anyways. You pull out your oh-so-fancy (not) laptop and set it on the desk, beside the two-to-three  _thousand_  books you had to buy for your courses. No, that's an exaggeration, there's probably a dozen books on your desk. It still feels like a lot. Your suitcase has been sloppily shoved into a corner, and the extra duffel with your house shit is on your bed. You consider actually opening that for a second and setting up camp, then decide against it. You have far better things to do. You know, like finding food. 

Yes. Finding food has now become your main priority. You grab your room key, shove it into your sweat pants pocket (man, you really have to stop tucking your shirt into your sweats, people are going to make fun of you like  _hell_ if anyone notices), and exit the room. Your dorm is practically deserted, and so you climb down the two flights of stairs to the main level and exit. No use settling for vending-machine garbage when there's a coffee shop less than a quarter of a mile away. Hopefully the bagels there are good. 

The burning smell of paper and weed fills the air as you walk past an alley, and you notice a seemingly clown-faced douche standing extremely close to you, smoking a joint. Probably just the lighting. But as you walk past, he follows you, and nope. That's honest-to-fuck clown shit right there. It's matched with unruly white-blonde hair that sticks up in every direction from his head, a bridge piercing, a few lip piercings, and a bright purple V-neck shirt. He grins and waves. "Hey, what's a motherfucker doing so motherfucking far from the dorms, bro?"

You manage not to wince at his breath, but turn to talk to him. Why the fuck not? "This," you air-quote, "'motherfucker' is looking for food that isn't so horrible that your fucking dog would look at it and turn its head in shame at the vastly low quality of the shit before it."

"Yeah, sure," you agree on a whim, and turn to continue walking. He follows you, dropping his rolled-up paper-and-weed joint on the ground and stepping on it. Yeah, that's totally not going to get noticed by anyone, ever. Nope. Yeah, he's doomed. "What's your name, anyways, fuckass?"

He doesn't seem to mind the title, just grins at you, his eyes half-closed in sheer post-weed euphoria. "Gamzee motherfuckin' Makara, brother. And who the fuck might you be?"

"Karkat," you grind out, looking down at the pavement. "Vantas." 

"Sweet," he nods, getting a bit ahead of you. Fuck, but he's tall. Seriously, he's at least a head higher than you. Of course, you barely stand at 5'7", but that's no excuse for this 6'5" monstrosity that he appears to be. Now that you're behind him, you see a blue beanie perched atop his head, making his hair halo out. You should have known that there was no way that fauxfro was natural.

Okay, that was not a word. You could smack Past You for even thinking that was a word. You would smack yourself in the forehead, but a breeze distracts you, and you look up at the forest that surrounds a good two thirds of the college. There are some palm trees scattered in there, but you get the feeling that those are mostly for display only, seeing as how they line the parking lot and the sidewalks, and don't even appear in the forest. To be honest, the forest is more of a jungle. You can see vines and flowers and whatnot peeking out from in between the trees. And it's so fucking  _green._ You haven't seen that much green in your whole life, you don't think. Of course, that's probably because you've lived in a desert pretty much your whole life, but that's against the point. 

Gamzee notices you staring at the _greengreengreengreengreen_ and chuckles. "It's pretty sweet, I know. I been livin' here pretty much my whole motherfuckin' life, and it never stops looking all up and beautiful. Motherfuckin' miracle right there." 

"Doesn't seem like much of a miracle to me," you marvel, finally starting to move again, pushing against the door of the coffee shop. It doesn't budge. What? It can't be closed. You peer inside. Yeah, there are definitely people in there. 

Wait.

You pull on it. It comes open immediately. You could smack yourself. In fact, you do. With the side of the door.

You're such an idiot.

Gamzee steps past you again and into the shop, going to stare at the pastry counter. You just stand at the door and look inside, the cool darkness a pleasant change from the brightness of outdoors. There are the seemingly handdrawn signs advertising overpriced cappuchinos resting beside the cherry wood side table, on which stands an interesting excuse for art in the form of clay someone shoved together, stuck in a kiln, and somehow didn't blow up long enough to slap some glaze on it and make it look semi-decent, or at least enough to pass as a conversation piece for post-modernistic jerks. Beyond that, couples are sitting at the tables that make everyone look about five years old, because the chairs are so high up that their feet can't touch the floor. A girl in ostentatious spectacles sips a frappe loudly as she types one-handedly at her computer, her long black hair squishing beautifully (make that messily) under her skinny-jean-clothed butt. Gamzee has now joined the line of impatient douches, staring greedily at what appears to be a piece of cheesecake beneath that tempting glass. You get behind him, still unsure of what you feel like getting. Well, technically, you get behind another blond douchebag who's taken his place after Gamzee in line. This one's wearing shades, though. In a coffee shop. What the fuck. This place is dark enough already.  Whatever, not your problem. Just another hipster determined to be cool and making a fool of himself instead. 

After a good ten minutes of waiting in line (and deciding that you're going for a bagel sandwich-- the vegetarian one, since it's cheaper and you don't feel like proving the Freshman Fifteen stereotype correct just yet), the hipster in front of you steps up to order. He does so in a smooth southern accent. 

"Caramel frappe, soy, two shots of espresso and extra whip."

"Name, please?" The barista lisps at him from behind her braces, writing quickly on a biodegradable cup. 

"Strider."

"We like, just got a Strider, his order isn't even out yet. Try again." She frowns, her single brain cell probably firing about a million miles an hour. 

"Oh, fine." He sighs dramatically. "Dave."

You didn't even realize you were holding your breath until you let it out. He's not your room mate. Thank God. You doubt you could stand being able to put up with someone this big of a hipster douche. 

Then he turns and frowns at someone a few feet away, and your heart drops. It's a similar blond, except his hair is spiked up in the back, and he's wearing fucking weeaboo shades. As in, the kind that look like someone shoved two triangles together and fitted them with temples and nose guards. He's also reaching for a drink that clearly bears the name "Strider" on the side. 

Shit.

You decide to ignore him in favor of joining your new "bro" Gamzee at one of the stupidly high tables. 

That could be taken one of many ways, given that Gamzee is trying to poke his straw up his nose, muttering something about "motherfuckin' smellin' the motherfuckin' miracles." 

"Dude, no. That is nasty. Get the fucking straw out of your nasal canal and drink the coffee like a normal human being, you shitstain, pathetic excuse of a human being. I cannot fucking believe I'm willing to befriend someone who's so high I doubt he can even remember what the fuck he ordered."

"Almond milk macchiato," he responded almost immediately, a grin stretching across his face at remembering. You roll your eyes and take a huge bite of your bagel sandwich, the sprouts crunching nicely under your teeth. It's actually not bad, despite how much you hate yourself for actually submitting to the vegetarian dish. 

Naturally, the Strider duo settle into the table next to you, one of the low ones with couches of indiscriminately bland colours surrounding it, and appropriately nonsensical paintings sprawling across the walls behind it. You kind of envy them. Those couches look rather comfortable. 

You really hope neither of them tries to talk to you, turning your back to them rather pointedly.

"Hey, dude." Texan accent, uncompromisingly annoying use of the word dude. Shit. You turn towards the voice, raising a bland eyebrow. 

"Are you talking to me?" you ask rhetorically, and he nods with a smirk. 

"What's your name? Don't really seem the type to be hanging out around here. And you  _definitely_ ain't from Hawaii."

"Well, neither are you, princess," you snark at him. "The name, douchelick, is Karkat Vantas. And you're almost definitely Dirk Strider, my asshole of a roommate and one of the most pathetic hipster douches I have ever had the misfortune of meeting."

"Well, fuck you too," he whistles quietly, his smirk staying fixed in place. "At least you have a few more brain cells than I was prepared to give you credit for, seeing as how you're currently at a table with the neighborhood junkie." 

"Yeah, well, I'm not seeing too many on you. Why the fuck are you even wearing shades? It's like, pitch fucking black in here, not to mention that they make you look like a complete asshole, as if I needed further proof."

"You don't even have any proof." You can practically feel his eyes rolling behind his weeaboo shades. "I could be a perfectly decent person with horribly shitty- and, for your information, ironic- shades."

"Which makes you a hipster. That's practically worse. No, fuck that, it's not, but it's still fucking terrible." You groan and rest your head none-too-gently against the table, provoking snorts from both Striders and the stoner. "Shut up." You sit up, grabbing the remainder of your sandwich, and nod briskly at Gamzee. "Nice to meet you, asshole. I hope to meet you someday when you're actually fucking  _sober._ " Rolling your eyes, you abscond the fuck outta that place. You cram the rest of the sandwich down your gullet as you walk back to the dorm, hoping beyond hope that Strider hasn't set up camp back there yet. He couldn't have had time.

Needless to say, there are bags and pillows haphazardly thrown around the room where you most certainly didn't leave them when you walk in. Those aren't even yours.

Fuck.

Well, you knew he'd be in eventually.

Within half an hour, the Strider duo is- fittingly- striding into the room like they own the place. Weeaboo Shades- you don't feel like dignifying him by calling him his proper name- starts unpacking immediately, while Aviators just lounges against the wall, watching him with a completely blank face. After a bit, he turns to you. 

"Hey," he starts out, his tone wavering just a tiny bit, like he's unsure of himself. "The name's Dave, as I guess you figured out already."

"Yeah," you say hesitantly, not really willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, but trying anyways. "Karkat. Who're you rooming with?"

"Some South African douche named Jake English," he shrugs. "Foreign exchange student or something, and to be honest, I have no fucking idea where he came from. He sounds British, but he's got dark skin like nobody's business, and he'll talk your ear off about all the quote-unquote 'adventures' he's had. Not even African, just a seriously tan son of a bitch. Don't much like him, but I think Dirk was about to swoon." 

You almost laugh. Okay, so Dave isn't so bad. "That's so gay," you smirk, wiggling your eyebrows. "Everyone knows that if you want to stand a chance of picking up a hot guy, you can't swoon at him. It practically fucking  _yells_ I-want-your-ass. You have to act straight until you can determine if they want your ass too."

"Naw, man," he chuckles. "You have to go  _all of the gay_ if you want a piece of the ass. Scarves and high heels and swooning and all that shit. No other way to a Strider's heart, at least."

"Tell me that was ironic. I have never wanted anything to be ironic quite so badly as I want that to be ironic," you plead with him, eyes lit up with silent humour.

"Yes, that was fucking irony, Vantas. It's kind of my shtick." He actually fucking grins at you, you can see his eyes lighting up from behind his shades. 

Suddenly you realize that Weeaboo Shades is staring at you. He still doesn't get to be Dirk, not yet. And he's wearing a grin that says he wants to eat you for lunch. 

"I'm just going to leave you two to your unpacking," you comment nervously, and slip into the hallway. There's noise all around you now, noise that says that the rest of the students are starting to arrive. You walk down the next corridor, just wandering, really, pretty aimlessly. It's then that you hear a groan coming from two corridors down. That couldn't be good, so you walk forwards to check it out. A long, slender figure is pinning a slightly shorter, extremely bony figure to a wall with both arms, and the shorter one is moaning. Then you notice that they're connected at the face.

Oh.

You try to abscond quietly, but that fails. You trip over your own feet as you try to tear your gaze away from the two figures passionately making out in the hallway. They break away from each other as you try to get to your feet, your face heating up. 

"Who the fuck is that?" the guy has the sound of someone who usually speaks a more Western language. "Lux, please tell me you're not spyin' on us." Yeah, he messes up his R's. Definitely Japanese. Could it be...? 

No. No fucking way.

And then he comes into the light.

Purple streak against coarse Asian hair, glasses that if you didn't know any better you would suspect to be hipster frames, long blue and purple scarf that kind of marks him as permanently gay... 

It's Eridan. Your friend, the Navy brat who you legitimately haven't seen since his dad moved to Hawaii. His mom's Japanese, marking him forever with an inability to speak quite right. 

He stares at you just as much as you're staring at him, and his snogging partner does the same, although you don't know him. 

"Fuckin'... Kar?" he murmurs, his hand stretching out a little bit before he retrieves it hastily, smiling awkwardly. "It's been  _years..._ "

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," you grin, pulling into a hug. "How've you been, douchebag?"

"Fantastic," he pulls away from you to look you over. "I'm almost rid of the accent now, see? I can pronounce double-you's and vee's just perfectly now."

"Just not arr's," you smirk. "Okay, who's this asshole?" you motion to the bony figure beside him. His eyes are blue, and he's wearing a yellow and black striped sweater. Fuck it, is everyone on this whole fucking campus a hipster?

"This is Sol. He's..." Eridan chuckles nervously. "He's my boyfriend."

Sol waves a bit at you, then pokes Eridan's arm, who rolls his eyes. "Sol, Kar... Karkat. Kar, Sol. Really old friend, boyfriend. Now are we done with the formalities?"

"Yeah, we're done with the formalities," Sol nods. He has a bit of a lisp, which is slightly grating on your ears, but you don't mind  _too_ badly. "Nice to meet you." 

"And yourself," you nod. You stand there fairly awkwardly for a moment, before realizing what's going on and blushing to the tips of your ears. "I'll... just let you guys get back to what you were doing. See you later, Eridan."

You abscond the fuck out of there. 


	2. Chapter 2

So apparently Weeaboo Shades is a Brony. Just judging by his Rainbow Dash boxers and his pony-filled bedsheets. It's kind of disgusting. You want to splash black paint over his whole bed, hell, his whole half of the room. It's not even a bad show. Just a horrible, horrible fandom. You've only met a few nice ones in your whole life, and one of them was three. Doesn't count.

"--so I whalloped the dog on the head, and it yelped and fell into the river, and that was the last I ever saw of the mangy beast!" a British accent rings from the corridor, and you groan internally. It's not the accent that grates on your nerves. It's the "chap" behind the voice. As you expected, a moment later Weeaboo Shades and Jake I'm-Really-Fucking-Amazing English burst into the room. Jake's wearing his signature black running shorts that seriously couldn't be  _any_ tighter and a black tank top. You want to kill him for pure bad taste. 

He waves enthusically at you, and you groan. "Is Dave back in your room?" you snap at him, and he nods hastily, his eyes widening at the angry tone in your voice. Good. You stalk out, heading for Dave's room four doors down. Thankfully, it's still open. Dave probably knew you were heading this way as soon as Jake left. He's a lot smarter than his twin. 

"Figured you'd be around," drawls a voice as you walk in. Yep, Dave's a smart one. "Sickening, ain't they? You just want to smash their heads through the wall."

"What are you, a fucking mind reader?" You roll your eyes, smashing your back into the mattress of Jake's bed, since Dave's lounging on his own, laptop sitting on his legs. "That is exactly what I want to do to them. Either of them, both of them. They're such fucking idiots." 

"Agreed," he yawns, tossing something at you. You catch it before you realize what it is, then yelp and drop it on the floor as Strider laughs at you. 

"Jesus Christ, why the fuck do you have a genuine human cranium?" you say in an aggravatingly high-pitched voice as you settle down, staring at the skull now grinning up at you from the floor. 

"It's not mine," he laughs, closing his laptop with a *click*. "Property of one Jake English, straight from some archeological dig, he'll have you know. Why he has it is beyond me. The dude is fucking creepy, though."

"You'd have to be to own a human skull," you shrug. "Have you met Lux yet? Sol's twin brother. I haven't seen him around campus  _yet,_ and we're a whole week in."

"Nah. Hell, I haven't even met Sol yet. Just heard wild tales of him from Ampora." 

You roll your eyes. "Which Ampora? The gay-as-fuck freshman or the douchebag greaser senior? Thank fuck we'll be rid of him after this year. That is, if he actually graduates on time like he's supposed to. If we're especially lucky, he might just drop out, save us all a shitload of trauma."

"Oh, right. That one. He started hittin' on me in the cafeteria two days ago." Dave's voice drops to a low, sultry rasp. "'Hey, chief, what'cha up to? Care to join me later? I'll," insert conspiratorial wink here, "show ya the ropes in the dorms, if ya know what I mean.'" He even adds the accursed mangled v's and w's the Amporas are so prone to. You throw your head back and laugh. 

"He thinks he's all that," you snort, flopping onto your stomach and pressing your head into your arms. "At least Eridan knows he's an overdramatic piece of shit."

"Someone's in love," Dave teases, flicking a scrap of paper at you. You don't think anything of it for a second until you notice that there's writing on it. Slightly messy, green writing. You unfold it and read, your eyes slowly growing wider as you feel your cheeks flush. A second later, you shove it back at Dave. 

"Dude. That's a note from Jake. Oh my fucking God. Just... just read it."

He does so. Out loud.

_"My dearest Dirk,_

_It has come to my attention that you are rooming with a short little chap who appears to hate your guts. This, partnered with your brother's seeming inability to leave his room, has left us with nearly no options. Although I'm sure you realize that I do quite want to fuck you s-"_ Dave stutters, his cheeks reddening, even though he remains otherwise expressionless behind his shades, " _senseless, we may have to wait a bloody long time, or somehow convince those two to take their leave for several hours, if not a full day. Do you have any good ideas, because blast if I do. Yours, Jake English."_

 _  
_Dave crumples up the note, his face slowly going back to his normal shade. "I bet you _anything_ that Dirk wrote back, and English is just saving these like a narcissistic bastard. Hell, they're both narcissistic bastards. I  _was_ going to propose that Dirk and I switch rooms, but now I'm not sure I want to, just to be a cockblock for those two."

"Like I'd let you in my room," you tease, before shaking your head. "Not worth it. Just tell him you want to switch. You just know he'll be fucking ecstatic. And then we don't have to deal with rooming with two utter assholes."

He lays back, considering for a minute, then nods, his shades slipping a bit before he pushes them back up on the bridge of his nose. "Okay. But I say we wait until they're back in our separate rooms. I do  _not_ want to walk in on whatever the fuck they're doing right now."

"Seconded. Want to go scope out the Captors, see if we can't rouse Lux from his lair? I want to meet this guy, apparently he's a real flirt."

"Just how gay are you?" Dave laughs, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of his bed.

"Not as gay as Eridan," you counter, and he fake-pouts at you.

"Well, damn, and I thought I'd finally found my soul mate, too. Guess I'll just have to tear the gay wizard Ampora away from his bony-ass boyfriend." 

"Watch out, world, here comes a Strider with a scarf fetish," you laugh, clambering awkwardly off of Jake's bed and nearly falling face-first onto Dave's chest. 

"Well, what else would you tie someone up with? They're perfect." He shoves you off of him  and strides towards the door, smirking. You follow, blushing, but glad for the excuse to go see Eridan. Despite everything, you do like talking to him. You've been friends since you were both five and he had just moved onto the base beside your town, and he was confused by the whole thing-- especially how dry everything is there. He moved three years later to the island of Oahu, where his mom settled and refused to move from, much to his father's chagrin. You heard the whole thing over angst-filled texts and IMs. The two of you had always planned to see each other again, but it never happened until now, and this was almost pure coincidence. 

His room is in the same hallway that you first saw him in, but thankfully he isn't shoving Sol up against a wall today. His door isn't open, so you knock before Strider has a chance. There's a muffled "coming~" from inside the door after you knock. No, it literally sounds like he injected a tilde into his voice. Then again, when doesn't he sound like that? The door opens, and Eridan's face is beaming at you from under-- oh, god. A pink cowboy hat. Complete with shitty-looking rhinestones and a pink string that ties under his chin.

"Why. the _fuck._ are you wearing that," you grit out. He laughs, flipping a strand of purple out of his face. 

"I found it at the Aloha market, and I just _knew_ that I had to have it. It was  _fated_ to be mine, Kar, see?" He nods, turning and beckoning you into his room with one hand. "Come in, already."

"How is it that after thirteen fucking years of knowing me, you still manage to mangle my name?" you growl at him, but it's more teasing this time as you follow him into the room. 

"It's not my fault it has an R in it, Kar." He  _deliberately_ fucks it up this time, and you snort. It sounds more like Cal than Kar. For whatever reason, this causes Dave to flinch. You decide not to ask. 

"So where's the douchefuck of a boyfriend?" you ask instead, looking around Eridan's room. In case it wasn't completely obvious from his very voice that he was gay, the huge-ass rainbow flag hanging in the corner proves it. There's a bookshelf you just  _know_ is full of fantasy books serving as the headboard for his bed, and even more books piled on his desk. After a quick examination, you can see that they're all history books. He's probably working his ass off, and there is no fucking point to getting a history major anyways, unless you plan to be a teacher. At least you have the perfectly reasonable goal of working at a museum or something. You don't really know yet. You might become one of those scientists who's actually working to make life more liveable. Or you might ditch your major entirely. But right now, biology is your thing. 

On the other side of the room, the wall is completely covered in posters for video games. Some, like Minecraft, you've heard of. Others, like Amnesia, you've never heard of, although you're sure you would get banned permanently from the gaming community as a whole if you told anyone so. Not that you had more than a toe in it to start with. There's a laptop open and sleeping on the desk, and the opposite bed has bits of what looks like a hard drive scattered all over the red and blue sheets. 

"Lemme guess. That's Sol's side of the room." Dave chuckles, and Eridan nods with an answering laugh.

"He's at class right now, but he should be back in half an hour or so. In the meantime, we could head out an' get coffee or some shit?" Eridan picks up his phone, shoving it into the pocket of his striped jeans as you and Dave nod in agreement. 

"Please tell me there won't be a huge crowd in the shop today," Dave grumbles. "Last time I went, I couldn't even get a chair."

"Nah, we should be fine. The crowd won't arrive for another two hours." You roll your eyes and walk out the door, not waiting for them to follow you. You know they will. It takes about ten minutes to reach the coffee shop at a brisk stroll. The sky's kind of overcast, but it hasn't started raining yet. It probably will the instant you step back out of the coffee shop, you figure. As you approach the door, a bony, slightly lanky boy in a yellow and black sweater walks out. It appears to be Sol. But Sol's in class. 

"Sol?" you ask tentatively, and he shakes his head. 

"Nope, I'm the other one. Brown eyes, man." He smirks slightly, then presses past you.

Well. That was Lux, you guess. Nice to meet you too. You  _pull_ the door open this time, and you definitely don't smile and congratulate yourself on remembering. Nope. Of course, like a gentleman, you hold the door open for Dave and Eridan. Eridan is the first to enter, his eyes set on-- definitely not the coffee prices. He heads straight for the girl in the bright pink, flamboyant spectacles you noticed the other day with a huge grin on his face. You hear him introduce himself, and a moment later she returns the favor, bubbling a "Feferi!"

This cannot be the flamboyantly gay Eridan you're so used to. He climbs up into the chair opposite her and begins talking as you and Dave get in line, neither of you bothering to hide your stares.

"Isn't he gay?" Dave comments to you. You nod. "And doesn't he have a boyfriend?" Nod. "Who lives in the same room as him?" Nod. "And who's an overpossessive, extremely jealous cocksucker?"

Nodnodnod. 

"Damn. This guy's an emotional masochist if I ever met one."

You sigh and roll your eyes. "He just likes stirring up drama. Especially if it riles up Sol. He'll do nearly anything to make Sol mad, even if it means they don't speak for a week. I think he gets off on it."

Dave orders, and gives his name as "Kamehameha" with a completely blank face. The very Samoan, very large barista snickers and writes it down as he goes to wait. You order as "Mary Poppins," just to one-up him. He sighs loudly, picking up his frappuchino and slurping on it. You wait the two minutes it takes for them to make your vanilla bean concoction, then grab it and head out the door, minus one very gay, very taken with a hipster girl Eridan. He'll be along in a while, probably. 

About five minutes into your walk back to the dorms, it starts raining. You run the rest of the way, holding your drink in one hand and using the other to half-assedly cover your head, to no avail. When you get back to your room, it has been evacuated by Jake, and Dirk is sitting on his bed, typing on his computer. You close it, hopefully startling him, although he doesn't show it behind those stupid weeaboo shades. You've finally reconciled to calling him by his name, since it's likely you won't have to share a room with him starting very soon.

"Hey, dickface," you preface, and he groans. You don't give him the chance to speak, though, just keep barrelling on. "I found a note of yours in English's room." He blanches, and you smirk. "And so I'm making a proposal. You get your ass out of my room for good, and bunk with Jake Fucking English, while I get your aviator-shaded dick of a brother."

"Really?" his voice is a bit less confident than usual. Ha. He regains himself quickly, though. "You'd do that?"

"No shit," you respond with an exaggerated eyeroll. "Dave's a bit more tolerable than you, and I don't feel like having my room smell like sex whenever I get back from class."

He pauses one second, then two, and then he jumps off his bed and starts stripping it. You watch with a smug grin, sitting on your bed to watch, jerking your head at Dave, who does an acrobatic fucking pirrouette outta there, a huge smile on his face. You'd think he didn't like rooming with English, or something. 

A second after he leaves, you hear an angry-sounding scream from the hallway. Definitely not a Strider scream. That sounds more like a Captor. You can tell, because Sol has a tendency to sound like an angry cat on steroids. " _Eridan Ampora, get the fuck out of my room, and don't let me catch you the fuck back here until you can learn a bit of respect for your fucking boyfriend!_ " 

Sounds like Sol found out about Feferi. 


	3. Chapter 3

Dirk moves out the next day. You breathe a silent sigh of relief as you help Dave set up camp. Thankfully, he has a fucking  _normal_ taste in TV, or at least as close as you can get with a hipster from Texas. Meaning to say, he watches Bones. Fucking laps that shit up, then tries to pass it off as irony. Also, apparently it's completely normal in Texas (or with Striders) to buy bedsheets with print all over them like you would put on a toddler's bed or some shit, if you ever bothered to help make a toddler's bed. Like, Dirk obviously has ponies all the fuck over his sheets. Well, Dave, he's got cards. Like, let's-play-poker-or-bs-or-something type cards. When you ask him why, he won't respond. Just shrugs at you and mumbles something about old friends and 52 pickup. 

You stop questioning it and just start working on genomes and RNA sequences like the good college student you are. You, unlike practically everyone else in your dorm, at least make an effort to get your homework done on time. 

Naturally, you can hear Jake groaning from all the way down the hall.

You give up on studying for now and collapse on your bed, shoving your pillow over your head to muffle the noises. You can hear Dave laughing at you, but you don't even fucking care at this point. Thankfully, the pillow muffles the sounds of unadulterated fucking, but then again, now you can't do anything. So after a moment of hiding under your pillow, you stand up, shoving the pillow back onto the bed, then flicking a finger at Dave. He'd follow if he wanted. Course, he probably wouldn't. 

He follows you. You head out of the door, not really aiming for anywhere in particular, but since now you have a stray Strider, you figure you'll at least head outside. The air is nice outside of the dorm, and the sky is almost completely clear of clouds, which is more unusual than you had expected from a tropical location. When you check behind you to look at Dave, he's carrying a fucking sword. To be specific, a katana. 

"What in the heavenly fuck are you carrying that thing around for?" you raise an eyebrow, and he shrugs.

"I had it on me and figured why not. Do I need a reason?" he grins, pulling it out of its sheath and faking a swipe at you. You jerk back instinctively, and he fucking laughs at you. You snarl, and he tosses it to you. "Stay here. Don't fucking move from this spot until I get back."

And then he's gone. He runs into the building, and you just stare at the doors, not entirely sure what the fuck just happened. Five minutes later, you're sitting in the grass, feeling like a dumbass, and he comes running back out, cheeks brilliantly red, clutching another katana.

"How many of those do you  _have_?" you splutter.

He blushes. "One. Dirk has a couple, though..."

Oh, jesus. "Did you seriously just go into the fucking couple's room to grab a sword."

"It's not like they noticed!" he protests, and you nearly facepalm. Except that would have been more like a facesword. Because you're still holding it. Ah, no. That's not going to happen. You almost drop the sword in the grass, but before you can, Dave's blade is next to your throat. "Seriously, it's like you've never done this before," he chuckles.

"I haven't, fuckass." You unsheath the damn thing and try to figure out how to hold it. A moment later, Dave's hand is on yours, molding it around the sword, and okay that really shouldn't feel so good. 

"Okay, see. That's how you hold it, and I swear to god, you'd better not forget." He snickers and faces you again. "Okay, I'm going to strike at you now, and you need to block me."

He gives you exactly no time to comprehend this before he swings his sword towards your cheek, and you instinctively close your eyes and shoot the sword in your hands upwards to block.  Thankfully, you hear a tiny clang of metal, and when you look up, Dave's sword is against your own, and he's grinning at you. 

"Not bad for a first time," he comments, swinging the sword around, and you try to block his swing. Of course, your beginner's luck wears out immediately, and your hands are seemingly unable to swing a sword three feet to the right. You try, but by the time your sword gets there, he's nicked your cheek, and you can feel blood running out of the tiny gash. You groan in annoyance, but he just laughs. "You'll get it."

Over the next two hours, as the sun starts to set in what is most likely the west, all things considered, Dave teaches you how to parry and block. Mostly just block. After the first hour, you're covered in nicks and scratches, and they sting from sweat, but fuck all if you care. By the end of the second, Dave's discarded his shirt, and you're having to try your best not to stare. You're on the brink of taking off your ill-advised black sweater, but it was comfortable before, and you're determined to stick this out, primarily because you feel like Dave will look down on you for your utter lack of six-pack abs and the tiny bit of chub you still carry around. Not that you really think he would, but... you know, it's best to wait until you've gotten in better shape, that's all. 

Finally, he puts his sword down. "Next time we might actually let you take a swing at me, so long's you promise you won't try to hack my arm off."

He seems so in control, so completely sure of himself, entirely lacking in his normal cool-kid fakeness he always carries about him. You shiver a bit, subconsciously. He still haven't gotten rid of his shades, even though the sun is starting to set, but it feels like his eyes are piercing you. Okay, that sounds cliched, but it's true. You sheathe the sword and hand it back to him, shaking slightly with over-exertion. He takes it with a small smirk, and you feel his whole demeanor shift.

"Okay, dude, we should get back inside," he shrugs at you, grabbing his shirt from the grass and swinging it over his shoulder like a jackass. Eh, what the fuck. If he wants to look like an idiot carrying two swords and a t-shirt, you'll let him. 

For the first time (ha, no) you wonder just how smart a move it was to room with Dave Fucking Strider. For one thing, now you get to hear his twin and the English Bastard "making love" (once again, ha, no-- they're just fucking) two doors down. For another... okay, in all honesty, you're not kidding anybody anymore. You'd love to be doing the exact same thing with the twin you got stuck with.

Man, life sure flips you on your ass sometimes.

As soon as you get within the dorm, you and Dave are practically attacked by Sol, his glasses askew and his hair ruffled. He grabs Dave by the arms and slings him into the hallway, pressing him against the wall.

"Don't ask," you hear him hiss as the tramp of quickly-moving feet starts resonating from the stairwell. "Just don't fucking ask."

And then- no, no, no. Your brain backfires on you, there is no logical explanation for this, you're clearly dreaming, because there's no way in hell that Eridan's constantly pissed-as-shit boyfriend just kissed your gay crush.

Or that he's kissing back.

None.

At.

All.

You run upstairs, passing Eridan who's on his way down without so much as a second glance. You have to get out of there. You don't know what's going on, you just have to go somewhere safe.

The hands that catch you on your way to your room are unfamiliar, but the voice is.

"Whoa, there, chief. You look like you're in a bit of a hurry. Think you might wanna tell me what's up? It's been a while since I've seen ya, we've got some talkin' to do."

"Cronus?" you mumble, looking up into those weirdly purple eyes that you haven't seen since you were little and he was like, ten. "Not right now. Go chase your fucking brother down, he's probably caught his boyfriend having sloppy makeouts with my roommate. Not my idea, for the fucking record. Just go separate them before Eridan kills someone, would you?" 

You push past him and storm into your room, not caring about the implications of Cronus being around. Who gives a shit if you'll be relentlessly hit on by someone you knew as a first grader? Not you, not right now. Right now, the only thing you fucking care about is burying your head in your mattress and praying the drama away. 


	4. Chapter 4

It's been two days. Yesterday you got a splitting headache that has yet to go away, which you put down to too much coursework. Dave showed up a few hours after getting pulled into the hallway, but he has yet to speak a word to you, and you don't feel like initiating conversation.

What you do feel like is going to find some fucking aspirin or something, this is just ridiculous. 

Needless to say, you don't think you can move. "Daaaaaaave...?" you whine. At least now you have a good reason to talk to him. 

"Whatcha want?" he calls back, sounding groggy. Fuck, what time is it? Never mind, you're not going to open your eyes to look at the clock on the wall.

"Gemme some aspirin." 

"Fuck if I'm dragging my ass out of bed to get you your drugs, you whiny bastard." Nevertheless, you hear sheets ruffling, and footsteps in the general direction of the bathroom. A few moments later he's forcing you to sit up, and you lean against him. Hey, you've got a headache, you're not in your right mind right now. He can't blame you.

He doesn't say a word, just hands you the aspirin and a half-empty glass of water, and you down both as quickly as you can, then bury your face in his shoulder. "Stay here," you mumble, and you feel him nodding into your hair.

"Fine, but you're still a jackass."

"I know."

 

You wake up with your head in Dave's lap, his hand tangled in your hair, and he's looking down at you, with one notable detail.

His shades are missing.

Bright red eyes stare down at you, half-lidded with exhaustion, but he still chuckles as you manage to open your eyes. Your head hurts considerably less, and you slowly realise yet another notable detail.

Dave Strider. Is sitting on your bed. With your head nestled against his crotch.

You bolt upright, and he shoves his shades back on his face. "Were you... petting me?" you ask tentatively.

"Man, what would I do that for? Although you do have the whole annoyed-cat thing going on right now. The hair's doing you a big favor, too."

You growl at him, and he laughs, picking himself up off your bed. "Dude, it's like... really early. I need coffee to survive. You want me to grab you some?"

"No, fuck no. I'm going to see a doctor, this headache is awe-inspiringly, fucktastically horrible. Like some higer power decided it was mad and wanted to take it out on some poor, helpless human being, and zapped all their anger straight into my brain, which reacted by trying to curl up into a ball and fucking die."

"That bad?" he winces. "Come on, I'm dragging your ass to the doctor. There's an office in Kaneohe, we'll go there."

You shrug, and he tugs you off your bed as your head twinges in pain again. You're starting to get pissed, for whatever reason. Probably the headache, but you can't see though the fog of annoyance to think logically. Your head hurts and you're tired and there's a douchebag who you have a huge fucking crush on dragging you out of bed to go see a human being who'll just tell you to take tylenol and you fucking  _can't_ right now. 

But instead of protesting, you just slump against Strider.

Who fucking picks you up and carries you, bridal style, out to his (oh, fucking  _great_ ) mini-cooper and plops you into the passenger's side seat. "Buckle in, Karkles. We're going to the doctor. Maybe they'll even give you a lollipop."

You scowl, but buckle in and sit back as he drives you down a tiny (holy fuck O'ahu is small) highway and up to an even smaller office building. As soon as he's parked, he swoops down and picks you up again, and you raise an eyebrow at him. "Is this really necessary?"

"Of course it's necessary. I don't want my precious Karkitty getting even more pissy because he has to do things like stand and walk." You roll your eyes, but you know what, you probably shouldn't pass up the only opportunity you may ever have to get held by an insufferable prick with a huge ego and an adorable face and a really nice build and you know what you're going to shut the fuck up now. 

In the doctor's office, they run you throught the normal height-and-weight bullshit. As always, 5' 4", 125 pounds. No change whatsoever.

You're just very compact, okay? Very. Compact.

Then they move on to poking and prodding you, and your head just keeps hurting. Finally, the nurse leaves, to be replaced by a doctor with green eyes and short brown hair. 

"Sit down, Karkat."

You are sitting. What the fuck.

"I'm Doctor Maryam, would you mind telling me some of your symptoms?"

You groan. "My head. Fucking hurts. And it has for the past two days."

"Can you rate your pain on a scale of one to ten?" She does look concerned, but you couldn't give less of a fuck.

"No way in hell. This thing defies all scales, systems, and measurements. So just prescribe me your aspirin and let me outta here with my fucking sticker and lollipop."

"Please just answer the question, Mr. Vantas."

"Okay, fine. I'd say a nine or a ten, okay? I mean, my head's hurt a lot before, but this is fucking bad."

She taps her pen against her lip, her eyebrows furrowing, and looks across at her computer screen, scrolling through some inane details about your medical history. "It says here that your father died prematurely of a tumor. Is that true?"

You look down at the ground, wincing. Dave glances over at you, his shades reflecting the harsh lighting straight into your eyes. After a moment, you shrug. "Yeah. Brain tumor. I'm supposed to check for it every year."

Your mind is already furiously connecting the dots, but you refuse to believe it. So you close that thought process off, fucking snap that sucker shut like a trash bin you can't stand the smell of anymore and have to run away from holding your nose before you can stand to breathe again. 

"How long have you been getting these headaches?"

"About six months now," you shrug, still staring at the ground.

"And when was your last checkup?" She's writing viciously on her clipboard now, staring back and forth between it and you. 

You cough. The ground is very interesting. Extremely. That's probably a speck of dust on the floor. How fucking intriguing.

"Mr. Vantas?"

"Three years ago. All right? All right, moving on. Now that that's no longer of interest..."

She stares at you. You stare at the floor. You're pretty sure Dave's staring at the J-Beebz stickers in the corner. That's what it looks like, out of the corner of your eye. 

"Mr. Vantas, we'll be having you step into the scanning room shortly, if you don't mind. Please wait here."

Well, this sucks. Doctor Maryam steps out of the room, and you're left sitting on the horrible, crinkly paper-covered, way-too-high checkup seat, while Dave's in the one comfortable chair. 

"Man, your dad died of brain cancer, and you didn't say anything? Even with these headaches?" Dave's definitely staring at you now, you can see his eyes glittering through his shades. 

"I didn't want to face it, okay? Past me is a serious fucking idiot. Just let it go." You sigh, swinging your legs back and forth over the edge of the examination seat. There's silence for the next fifteen minutes, an awkward, tense silence. 

Finally, you break it again. "So what happened with you and Sol?"

"He's back with Eridan. Those two are a pair of idiotic dicks. I think he's trying to comfort that Japanese bastard over the fact that the hipster girl he was talking to is... you know. A girl." 

You roll your eyes. "He's always been like that. I'm just surprised Sol's fallen for it."

"Well, he may not be sane, but he is cute." Dave chuckles, and you blink. Nope, nope, he's not going there. That's just unfair.

"He's also taken," you snarl, a bit too fast, and Dave tilts his head at you.

"Whoa, chill. I was just saying he's attractive. There are other attractive people in the world besides you, you know." 

That takes you a second to process. 

"You think I'm attractive...?" you look up at him, for the first time in a good twenty minutes. His cheeks are bright. fucking. red.

"Well-" he starts as Doctor Maryam returns to the room and beckons you out. You follow, and she motions Dave to stay put. He groans, but stays, and you and she head towards a door. This is the part you know too well. You go into the room and lay down on the machine, and it draws you in. After a bit, it spits you back out, and you sit up. Doctor Maryam escorts you back to the room, and you and Dave sit in awkward silence for another good half hour before she enters with the results.

"Well, Karkat," she addresses you via your first name for the first time, and you already know what's happening. "The results aren't the best in the world, but we can work with them. There is a small tumor in your cerebral hemisphere. It's known as glioblastoma, and while we don't know exactly how dangerous it is, we'll be keeping tabs on it, and you should be all right." 

The next thirty minutes is a blur of setting up appointments and assurances that you probably won't die and Dave  _staring_ at you, and you can tell that he's horrified. You're just kind of dazed. 

This absolutely cannot be happening right now.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise I haven't abandoned this thing. I'm just far too wrapped up in real life. Don't worry, you'll get your story <3

Driving home is a blur, and you find yourself tripping up the stairs towards Eridan's room- you simply can't face Dave right now. He's been staring at the road with the exact same expression ever since you left the doctor's office. Well, honestly, you probably have been, too. You scuff your feet on the shitty tiling of the hallway, the florescent lighting making you dizzy. Your head still hurts, and by this point, you can't think at all. Ugh.

Eridan's door is completely decked out in magnetic drawing boards held up by duct tape. This shouldn't really surprise you anymore. What you do find mildly intriguing is the multicoloured, quite well-drawn pictures of tentacles sweeping all over the boards, going from one board to the next. There's a mustard-yellow one, a dark purple one, and a bright red one. Fairly standard marker colours, you suppose. Especially given that yellows always do tend to turn brownish after a while of use. You trudge into his room, mind slightly more clear, now that you're starting to process things again. Eridan is hunched over his desk, pastel in hand, scrunching his eyebrows at a half-coloured piece of paper. Sol isn't in, but his bed is unmade and completely covered in books and cd's and... shit, you're pretty sure that's a laptop that's been taken apart and half put back together. There's a hard drive sitting off to the side, and several parts that look kind of technological- who are you kidding, you don't fucking know this stuff. So instead of dwelling on it any longer, you plop down on Eridan's (thankfully clean) bed, draw your knees up to your chin, and wait. 

And wait.

Eridan's entranced by whatever he's working on, so much so that eventually you manage to snap out of your haze of self-pity enough to flop off of the bed and take a look at what he's drawing. You jump up on your toes to peer over his shoulder, and a pleasant surprise awaits you. It's still half-sketched, a pair of wings stretching around the page, not yet coloured in- but the background draws you in. It's an ocean floor, very obviously, with a large reef building up towards the ever-lightening surface. Fish dart in between the uncoloured, unfinished spirals of the wings in the foreground. It's one of the most calming things you've looked at in a while. 

"So... whatcha drawing?" you prompt, and he finally turns to look at you. His glasses are hanging halfway off his face, and his nose has a bit of black smudged on it. His hair's in his eyes, which is quite a new look for him.  It's usually done up in spikes, the purple separated from the rest in a few rather large clumps. Today, the purple is pushed messily to the side, the gel worked out of it already by sweat. 

Attractive.

"Oh, it's just something for a class." He shrugs, pushing his glasses up on his nose and smiling halfheartedly at you. "We're working with gold leaf, so I figured I'd give my pattern a background before I put it on." 

You nod, watching him slowly shade a shadow behind one of the small black figures. "How'd you even think this design up? I mean, it's beautiful. But how the fuck would you dream something like that up?" 

He pauses, then puts the pastel down, and you see that his fingers are stained purple and black, a look you find rather fitting. "I... saw it in a dream, actually. I woke up... well, I say woke up, but you know how dreams are- in this fuckin' apartment underground, right? And when I got out, I was in the ocean. And looking back, the house was built into a reef. So... that's it. That's the reef." 

"Well, that's pretty cool, I guess. But what does that have to do with those wings?" 

"We were supposed to choose something abstract- an emotion or somethin', and illustrate it. That was my attempt at..." he flushes slightly. "Hope."

You study the wings for a second more. "You said the wings will be covered in gold foil?"

"Yeah." He nods, picking up his pastel again and beginning to colour a few more fish.  "I'm going to put it on tomorrow. Today's just for colouring the background. I really hope this medium is acceptable, they didn't say specifically what they wanted, just that it had to involve gold leaf somehow. Like, how in the hell am I going to use gold leaf in marketing? 'Yes, sir, I will absolutely cover this billboard with gold leaf text, since I know that it is so obviously cost effective.' Um, no."

You snort. "You're more sarcastic than I remember. Who'd you pick that up from?"

"Sol and Lux, actually. They're sarcastic little fuckers, and they've gradually passed it onto me- especially since Sol and I started sharing a room." He chuckles, a bit red in the face still. "So... you have a reason for invadin' my room, or just come to stare at my magnificent, glorious splendour of an unfinished art project?" 

"Well..." you consider what to say. Oh, fuck it. He's been your friend since elementary school. "I'm avoiding Dave. I'm pretty sure he's about one zone-out from slapping me in the goddamn face."

"What'd you do to deserve that one?" Eridan winces knowingly. You shake your head.

"I didn't do fuckall. Besides get a seriously shitty, Oedipus levels of motherfucking, so bad I sat around and missed my most important class, which as you very well know, is about as fucking likely as Barack Fucking Obama releasing Hawaii from statehood, which just to specify, there is no goddamn chance of, unless every single person, white, Asian, or islander, revolted and fucking shoved the island all the way across the Pacific Ocean and out of American territory. He had to take me to the goddamn hospital, wherein we proceeded to find out... well. You remember those headaches I used to get as a kid?"

He nods, his face turned from joking to worried, his eyebrows scrunched up tightly, his hair once again in his face. "I remember. Pretty shitty, weren't they?"

"Damn right. Well, we figured out what's causing them. You'd never guess." You sigh, sitting back down on his bed. "I've got a tumor in my brain stem that's been eating away at me for years now. I haven't done too much research into it yet, since we just found out- but Dave looked like he wanted to either go comatose or kill a man. I'm really hoping that man doesn't turn out to be me."

"I bet it'll be fine, Kar." Of course, he says this as his face goes paler than I've ever seen it- and that's really saying something, for him. The pastel is rubbing off and contaminating his hand with even more purple, but he doesn't seem to notice. "Do you know what kind of tumor it is?"

"I have it written down somewhere, I'm pretty sure. I'll do some research later. I just- fuck. I don't want to deal with this. The headaches, those were fucking fine, compared to this. What if Dave hates me now? What if he doesn't want to deal with the fucking cancer, and I have to live with Gay Anime Shades brother for the rest of my oh-so-humble fucking existence while in this fucking college?" You bury your face in your arms, curling your elbows tight around your knees. "This isn't fair. I'm not even 19, dammit."

After a few moments of shivering, the bedsprings behind you squeak, and a hand ruffles through your hair, then slips around your shoulders in a slightly awkward hug. "Hey, Kar. It'll be all right. He's not going to hate you. Who the fuck could hate you? You're Karkat Vantas, longwinded profanity expert and dipshit extraordinare. What would anyone do without you? I mean, that's why I know it'll be okay. Because none of us would make it long without you. You move on, but... it's never quite the same, hmm? So you're going to be fine."

It's the most roundabout, ridiculous thing you've ever heard, but anything goes at this point, so you relax against his shoulder, allowing him to comfort you. You can confront Dave later. 


	6. Chapter 6

It's been a long time since the hallucinations plagued you, several years, in fact. Your parents thought you were lying, your doctor thought it was schizo, and that was that. You were fine with that. Took meds, the hallucinations stopped. The meds stopped, the hallucinations didn't come back. But now your dreams have started creeping into your reality again, confusing which is which. The first time you noticed that it had started again, your walls started changing shape, your bed turned to a great gooey mess, and when you sank into your sheets, they turned green and pulled you down, into the depths you didn't think a bed could have. And when you dream, you dream of a world of gold, a world that you know perfectly well doesn't exist. You dream of horrors, pulling you downwards, inwards, outwards-- ripping you apart. You're no longer you, you're a grey demon, the only trace of yourself in the hoarseness of your voice as you beg to remain alive.

You woke up screaming, Dave pressing his hand against your forehead, your ass firmly planted on your definitely solid bed. You looked around the sheets, which were definitely red, and saw no traces of the slime that previously enveloped you. It surprised you, more than you'd ever let on. Dave walked away as soon as he saw your eyes open, shrugging it off.

That was two days ago. Now you've given up trying to keep track of reality. Ghosts float through your walls, ghosts of people long dead, and people you know to be alive. Once, you see Dave walk straight through the door, his shadow splitting to reach towards you, his hand drifting towards your cheek in a more sentimental gesture than you've known him to ever give. You scamper backwards, heart pounding, before it retreats. Slamming your eyes shut, you wait, back pressed to the wall, hoping when you open your eyes, everything will look normal again.

Only darkness heralds you when you finally manage to pull one eye open. You turn in confusion. "Dave? Dave. Fuck. DAVE."

An arm reaches towards you, you can feel it run down your arm, and you shiver. "No, no, no. I can't see, I don't want this. Go away, I don't want any more Daves."

"There's just one of me, man, what the fuck are you on about?" It's Dave's voice... you grab his hand, trace up his arm, and fucking  _throw_ yourself at him. There are things crawling up your back and you can't see them, why can't you see...

"There are ghosts and I don't know what's real and I'm not sure how much longer I can fucking do this..." you mutter into his hair, his arms tightening around you. 

"There ain't any ghosts, relax. It's just brain shit. You'll pull through." You nod slowly, closing your eyes and welcoming the darkness that's supposed to be there for once. When you open them again, you're greeted by a hank of blond hair in your face, and you pull away from him.

No, fuck that shit. 

You curl back into him as he sits down on the bed beside you, trying to ignore how the shadows creep up behind him, how in the reflection of his shades, you have horns and grey skin. Oh god, what the fuck. No. It's just a hallucination or something. Your reflection cracks a smile at you, its bright red eyes and pointed teeth glinting in the sunlight scattered from the window behind you.

But there are arms around you, keeping you safe from the static in the shadows. You curl closer to him, tucked into his shoulder, and you're just plain old Karkat reflected in his glasses. Pale as fuck, messy hair and bared- but normal- teeth. "Can... can you take those off?" you mumble. After a moment of silence, he nods and pulls them away from his face, blinking as his eyes adjust to the light. 

You decide not to trust your vision right now- his eyes probably aren't glowing red. Or at least not glowing. They might be red. That might be real. You can't really remember if you've seen his eyes before or not. 

"That better?" He drawls, and you nod, smiling a tiny bit, trying to ignore the way the poster behind you started glaring a moment ago. The window blinks, or maybe that was you, and you close your eyes. You're safe. 

He holds you like that for a long time, long enough for the shadows to draw away for a while and leave you alone. When you pull away, he raises an eyebrow. "You okay?"

"Yeah. I'm fine." You shrug. "It's just brain shit, right?"

"Right."

It's the first time he's talked to you in three days. You can see his brows furrow, and his eyes glimmer with something you can't quite place. "Karkat- what if this is just gonna keep getting worse?"

"It's not gonna keep getting worse, Strider." You're reassuring yourself more than him, to be honest. "I'll get better, that's what chemo's fucking for. Why does it matter to you anyways, you haven't talked to me in three fucking days, you prick."

"You think I want to be around someone who does nothing but remind me of what I can't have?" he glowers, and your befuddled mind processes that statement for about fifteen seconds before you make a sound.

"What the fuck are you on about? I'm right here, we share a damn room. How much more do you want?"

He stares at the floor, like he's trying to burn a hole straight through it. "Just shut up. Do us all a favor and pretend I never said that."

"That ain't fucking happening." You snort, and he turns his gaze on you.

"I said." His face is getting closer. Shit, you're hallucinating again. "Shut." Whoa those are some seriously red eyes. And they're literally right there. All you can see is eyes. "Up."

That is a mouth. Those are lips. They are on your lips. This is a thing that's actually happening. What the fuck. 

Before you can even respond, he's gone, his shades on, throwing the door open and slamming it shut behind him. You sit there in dazed silence, unable to think properly.

What the fuck.


End file.
